


Under the Spray

by Khimaira



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Job, Light D/s undertones, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khimaira/pseuds/Khimaira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam blows Dean in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Spray

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on fanfiction.net back in 2010.

The wind is harsh and unyielding, tearing at clothes and whipping freezing rain against unprotected skin. Sam has a hand fisted in the collar of his jacket, trying to keep the cold water out. The other is curled around Dean’s bicep, dragging him along as they run. The curtain of rain makes it hard to see much, but Sam can make out the glowing neon that spells “MOTEL”.  

The run from the Impala to their room is short, but Sam is soaked to the skin when they finally stumble thought the door. Beside him Dean is shuddering, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to heat them up.

“Fuck, I hate rain,” Dean says, shrugging off his jacket and cringing at the sad, wet sound the leather makes when it hits the floor.

“Can’t say I disagree.” Sam bends down to unlace his boots. Even his socks are wet, damn it. He peels the soggy fabric off his feet and straightens up, stroking his wet bangs from his eyes. The clock on the wall says it’s four in the afternoon, but the sky outside their window is the steely gray of gunmetal.

Rain is smattering against the roof, the noise oddly comforting now that they’re no longer outside. It’ brings back memories from when Sam was little, snuggled tight against Dean’s side on the couch of whatever crappy house they were renting at the time, sipping hot chocolate and watching cartoons that Dean claimed were for babies but Sam knew he secretly liked.

They wriggle out of their wet clothes and leave them on the floor, water staining the carpet dark. Sam’s eyes roam over Dean’s body, mapping curves and sharp angles, fair skin turned golden by the soft light and inviting darkness where the light doesn’t quite reach. Sam drinks it all in, fingers itching to reach out and touch.

“Shower?” Dean asks, and Sam nods.

“Yeah.” He pads after Dean into the bathroom, shivering a little as the cool air hits his wet skin. Dean turns on the shower and jumps back a little when the water makes contact with his chest, almost knocking Sam on his ass.

“It’s freezing,” Dean exclaims, pouting.

Sam laughs and pulls Dean back against his chest. “It’ll heat up. I think.”

“Stupid motels,” Dean mutters. He leans his head back on Sam’s shoulder and hums contentedly when Sam’s mouth latches onto his throat, sucking at the pulse point. Dean’s heartbeat is speeding up, staccato tap-tap-tap under Sam’s kiss. There’s a hint of stubble, just enough to make Sam’s lips tingle, and Sam moans at the sensation.  

He runs a hand over Dean’s chest, traces between his pecs and circles a peaked nipple, catching it between his fingertips and tugging. Dean grunts and thrusts back against Sam’s hardening cock, hand coming up to grip Sam’s wrist tight. Sam grinds against Dean’s ass, smearing his cheeks with clear, slick pre-come, and licks a broad stripe up his neck, teasing the shell of Dean’s ear with the tip of his tongue and relishing the gasp that tears from his brother’s throat.

“I think the water’s warm now,” Dean pants, reaching out a hand to test the temperature. He makes a satisfied sound and steps out of Sam’s arms, getting under the spray and closing his eyes with a little sigh. Sam smiles fondly at Dean and follows his example.

“Hey, move over,” Sam says and gently pushes Dean further into the shower with a hand on the small of his back. Dean grunts but complies.

“This is a really small shower,” he complains.

“We’ll manage.” Sam aligns their bodies, pressing his chest against Dean’s back again and locking his arms around his waist as he tilts his face up towards the spray.

The water is nice and hot, loosening tight muscles and erasing the bone-deep chill from earlier as it pounds against Sam’s skin. He’s thrusting lazily against Dean’s ass, stroking Dean’s cock with slow, measured movements of his wrist. The sound of the shower almost drowns out Dean’s whimpers, but just almost. Dean’s hand is clenched tight around Sam’s forearm, holding on as he bucks into Sam’s grip. Sam sucks a bruise into the nape of Dean’s neck, marking him with lips and teeth and tongue.

Dean starts to turn in his arms, and Sam reluctantly lets go of the skin caught between his teeth. When Sam opens his eyes their gazes meet, hot and intense. Dean’s pupils are wide, surrounded by bright green. Tiny droplets of water are clinging to his eyelashes, and Sam carefully brushes them away with the pad of his thumb. Dean makes a noise and thrusts against Sam’s thigh.

“Want you to suck me,” Dean murmurs, voice low and rough.

“Yeah,” Sam moans, wave of heat washing through his body at the commanding tone. He backs Dean up against the wall, leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Dean’s lips before kneeling, folding his legs underneath himself. “God, yeah.” The tiles are hard under Sam’s knees, but he barely even notices, because Dean’s cock is right there. It’s hard and flushed and fucking gorgeous, and Sam can’t wait to taste it.

His tongue flicks out to lick the small drop of pre-come from the tip, savoring the salty, bitter taste of his brother. He runs his thumb over the slit with just the barest touch of nail, and Dean moans his name, tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair. Sam smiles up at Dean mischievously, meeting his eyes again. He closes his fist around the base of Dean’s dick and takes the swollen head into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard. Dean’s head thumps back against the wall, but he doesn’t break eye contact as Sam swipes his tongue over the crown.

Dean’s cheeks are flushed, and he has his teeth buried in his lower lip, trying to hold back the whimpers that are threatening to escape. It’s flushed red under the abuse, and Sam wants to mark those lips, wants to smear them with white. Christ. He licks over the head a final time, digging the tip of his tongue into the slit before opening his throat and swallowing Dean down. The sound Dean makes is fucking delicious, somewhere between a moan and a whine. Sam almost chokes when Dean thrusts forward, but he pushes aside his gag reflex and takes Dean even deeper, swallows around him.

Sam’s throat feels impossibly full, stretched wide around his brother’s cock. Dean’s grip on his hair is tight, knuckles rubbing against Sam’s scalp.

“Want me to fuck your throat, Sammy?” Dean asks, voice hoarse and ragged, dripping with sex.  “Want me to use that pretty mouth of yours?” Sam groans and manages a small nod, cock throbbing with want. Dean’s fingertips move feather-light over Sam’s temples, his cheekbones, strokes where Sam’s lips are stretched wide around him. Then he’s gripping the back of Sam’s head, palms snug against his skull, holding him in place. Sam’s cock is achingly hard, but he doesn’t want to touch himself, not yet. Instead he curls his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms, sending a shiver down his spine.

Dean pulls out almost all the way, until Sam’s lips are sealed just below the head. Then he pushes back inside, stretches Sam’s throat wide with a slow, easy stroke. Sam moans and swallows around him, trying to open wider, to take Dean even deeper. Dean grunts and repeats the movement, grip on Sam’s head tightening as he thrusts inside again. Sam tries to lick along the shaft as Dean fucks into him, but his tongue just ends up in the way, so he settles for flattening it against the bottom of his mouth, giving Dean as much room as possible.

Dean’s pace is quickening, breathing becoming heavier and more irregular. His thrusts are harder now, bruising the back of Sam’s throat, cutting off the flow of air. Sam inhales sharply every time Dean pulls out, sucking down more oxygen. He reaches up and strokes Dean’s balls, rolling them in his palm and feeling the heavy weight of them. Sam runs a fingertip over the seam, moans at the way Dean’s breathing hitches.

“So good, Sammy,” Dean moans, fingers flexing against the back of Sam’s head. “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.” Sam hums and swallows around Dean’s dick, lets his fingers trail behind Dean’s balls and over his hole. Dean makes a low growling sound as Sam circles his opening, pushes a finger just inside. Dean’s entire body is tensing up, almost visibly shaking, balls drawing up close to his body.

He fucks into Sam’s mouth again and again, eyes locked on Sam’s, hips stuttering as he gets closer and closer to the edge, and then he’s coming, spilling warm and salty down Sam’s throat. Sam groans and swallows, not spilling a single drop, relishing the bitter taste.

Dean’s body goes loose and languid, hands petting Sam’s hair softly. “C’mere,” he says, and Sam pulls off and gets up from the floor. Dean hauls him in close and kisses him, licking into Sam’s mouth and tasting himself on Sam’s tongue. His hand closes around Sam’s rigid dick, stripping him with quick, skilled strokes. Sam groans against Dean’s mouth and thrusts into his grip, shocks of pleasure racing through his body as Dean thumbs under the head. It doesn’t take long before Sam’s coming all over Dean’s hand, pearly streaks that are washed away quickly, following the water down the drain.

Dean smiles up at him and grabs a small bottle from the shelf.

“You know, I think I’m gonna wash your hair.”


End file.
